


Shelling the Hazelnut:  Five Times Hazell Wormed His Way Out Of Trouble

by greerwatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Backstory, Boarding School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-04
Updated: 2011-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-19 01:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From little nuts do Hazells grow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelling the Hazelnut:  Five Times Hazell Wormed His Way Out Of Trouble

**I**

The flowers were so pretty.  Edwin picked the heads off and looked admiringly into their red satin bowls, noting that each of them had a shiny purple-black spot down in the centre, a bit like a ladybird, only larger.  Then the flowers landed in a wilting heap on the bed as the four-year-old saw the cat from next door sunning herself on the wall.  Her tail hung down invitingly; but she whisked it away when he leaped to grab it.

The flowers were discovered by his mother much later, after he’d been brought indoors and given his tea.  When she began to scold him, he insisted—ever more loudly—that he’d seen Susan-down-the-Street pick them, and been afraid to tell anyone because she was a big girl of seven and said she’d hit him if he tattled.

Susan said she hadn’t, and her mother refused to believe it (the more so since she’d had Susan with her at the shops all afternoon); but Edwin’s mother refused to believe Mrs Pritchard; and the two women didn’t speak for months.

 

**II ******

When Eddie’s teacher found the apple on her desk, she looked pleased until she noticed that, on one side, a large bite had already been taken out.  “Who left this here?” she asked.

Eager to take credit, Eddie stuck his hand up.

“You know you aren’t supposed to start to eat an ‘apple for teacher’,” she told him firmly.

“I didn’t,” said Eddie, almost forgetting the temptation of that ripe, rosy flank.

“Then who did?” she asked sternly.

“I don’t know.  I put it on your desk before class, and went back out to the yard.”

There was a pause.  To avoid Miss Hargroves’ eye, he looked round the room for inspiration.

“I think I saw Dorrie go in,” he said finally.  “Maybe she did it.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t!”

“I don’t _know_ that she ate your apple,” said Eddie prudently.  “I wasn’t in the room.”

“Dorrie?” said the teacher in a warning tone.

Cathy Anderson put up her hand.  When called on, she pointed out that Dorrie had been really mad—“angry,” corrected Miss Hargroves automatically—that she had been kept in the previous afternoon to write lines for passing a note.

This was true; and Cathy’s comment sealed Dorrie’s fate.

****

******III** ** **

Young Hazell, raised on a diet of the _Boys’ Own Paper_ and Talbot Baines Reed, was quite eager to start at his prep school.  That was before Baskers Minor decided, on the flimsy basis of his surname, to nickname him Nutty.  Furthermore, no one seemed to share his interests; and he had never been any good at the games the other boys valued so much.  Balls seemed to slip out of his hands; and he couldn’t hit leather with his bat if he’d swung till he fainted from exhaustion.

Being teacher’s pet might have been some consolation; but Mr Holliday washed his hands of him the day Hazell produced a line of Latin that put _dominus_ in the fourth declension.

The other boys enjoyed this for far too long.

So it was with great pleasure that Hazell filched a half a dozen biscuits from Baskers Minor’s tuck box.  Before the disappearance could be discovered, Hazell mentioned—in passing, as it were—that Fatty Dunnett had been lurking outside their dorm room, even though he was in another House.  Of course, he _said_ he wondered who Fatty had been looking for; but Baskers Minor drew his own conclusions.

****

******IV** ** **

It was with relief that, on his first day at his new public school, Hazell found none of the other boys from his prep school had made the move with him.  At least “Nutty” could be left behind, though he still didn’t seem to make any friends.

One hot afternoon in July, Hazell slipped off to the village to buy himself a fizzy lemonade.  He came out of the shop to see several of the other boys in his House sauntering into town to spend their last few coins before the hols.  He didn’t join them.  He slid off before they could see him, and made his way back towards the school, swigging his lemonade on the way.

He was just inside bounds when he heard someone coming and threw the nearly empty bottle into the bushes.  It was just as well, for it was his Housemaster.

“What are you doing here?” asked Mr Stuart sharply.

“Looking for the others,” said Hazell.  “I thought I saw them heading this way.”

Now there was only one direction boys would go from “this way”; and Mr Stuart knew that perfectly well.  He could see the implications of the boy’s explanation.  He also knew that Hazell was not the most popular of his year.  However, although the Housemaster could not abide a sneak, he had to admit that Hazell had not—quite—been telling tales.  So he simply told the boy to cut back to the school and not dally.

Then he went on to the village ... just to see what he would find.

****

******V** ** **

He’d been called up to Lanyon’s study for “not trying” during games.  Well, Hazell knew he’d been pushing his luck.  He just wished he dared cut altogether; but that would get him in _real_ trouble.  As it was, he was in for the usual speech about pulling his weight for the team.  It would be from Lanyon, though:  Hazell was not immune to the general admiration of the older youth.  Everyone expected him to be Head of School next term.

Also, he was rather handsome, in a lean, blond, English way.  Quite like an illustration from _The Boys’ Own Paper_ or some Victorian adventure novel.  Hazell risked a glance that took in all Lanyon’s charms, then raised his eyes to face the lecture.

And then he realized.

The Head of House—the Head of _House_!—was looking at _him_.

Oh, at first, Hazell still assumed that he would, once again, be told to buck up and buckle down.  So Lanyon’s offer to help him with his Latin and his bowling was unexpected.  But then he thought:  of course, the popular Head of House has a notorious sense of responsibility.  So Hazell decided that Lanyon actually intended to put his precious time where his mouth was.

Yet, alone with Lanyon in the classroom during break, Hazell realized that his eye was definitely more on _him_ than on Cicero.  And, when they went out on the cricket pitch and he stood behind Hazell to guide his arm, Lanyon shifted remarkably close.

Hazell was not so naïve as not to be able to read the signs.  After all, it went on.  Everyone knew it went on.  Even though no one could have sworn to the names of anyone actually doing it, there were rude jokes and plenty of loud speculation—not to mention the mysterious hints studding Jeepers’ little moral lectures.  So Hazell knew what Lanyon seemed to be working up to.  It was simply that never, at any time, had Hazell ever been approached in that way by anyone in his House, or in any of the other Houses for that matter.  His own preferences were not at issue:  it was _they_ who did not prefer him.  They never had.

He knew he was a joke to them.

Yet not, apparently, a joke to Lanyon.  Which was ... intriguing.

So Hazell was, indeed, duly intrigued.  There was much to be got from Lanyon’s favour ... quite apart from the other thing, which he suspected he’d rather enjoy.

Of course, if Lanyon’s notion of the lighting room panned out, they’d have a place to meet, which would be convenient, given the lack of locks on any of the study doors.  Had this perhaps been Lanyon’s idea when he suggested Hazell get involved in the play?

As long as no one guessed, or came in suddenly.  (But the door locked!)

And if anyone should find out....

Well, Hazell knew the best way to handle that.

**Author's Note:**

> “Shelling the Hazelnut” was written during the third chapter-by-chapter discussion of Mary Renault's _The Charioteer_ (‘the Unwritten Charioteer’) on the [maryrenaultfics](http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com/) LiveJournal community. The story was a contribution to the community writing project for Chapter Seven of _The Charioteer_ : “I thought we might take a look at making lists, any sort that catches your fancy.”


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